Blessings of Valar
by La Llorona
Summary: Attention KMart shoppers, CHAP 4 IS UP! HaldirOC minus MARY SUE! Reviews & critique help the author update faster hint, hint....
1. Chapter 1

Blessings of Valar 

I don't own any of this (other than parts of the plot!) and I am definitely NOT profiting from it!

Prologue, Part I – The Question 

The indigenous gray of his cape and tunic combined with a tread as light as the breeze on a midsummer's night made Haldir's passage near the roots at the base of the mighty mallorn trees undetectable by all but his fellow elves.

The same tireless pace that had counted the miles around Lothlorien's forested borders thousands of times in the March Warden's long life now led him down the ancient stone steps to Lady Galadriel's scrying mirror.

As he awaited the lady he circled to stand in front of the enormous table facing the stairs. Admiring the slender knotwork that had been carved in the stone by elven artisans so many centuries before, Haldir prayed silently to the Valar any wisdom imbibed by the mirror or its craftmen would serve him well.

Although his visage remained calm, inside his mind seethed with uneasiness regarding the coming war. The only betrayal of his disquiet was his eyes. The clear blue seemed to cloud into the dark green of an ocean stormswell, sweeping his peace before it.

Watching the moonlight gilding the bark of the mallorn silver, Haldir considered the passage of time. Although months were as a drop of water to an ocean in the lifespan of an elf, Haldir felt as though this short span of the coming six months was racing towards an uncertain destiny. Like the slender hithlain ropes gifted to the hobbits, time was coiling into convoluted loops and knots, somewhere hiding an end. But what end?

All of his adult life had been invested in the duty of protecting Caras Galadhon, the noble city of trees, and its elven inhabitants. Haldir loved the city and its surrounds above all things. From each talan he had ever sat he could picture tree-enshrouded meadows of tiny golden elanor starflowers rippling in a grass that never faded beyond the first glaring green of springtime.

His fond allegiance was also owed to the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, fountains of living knowledge and self-enlightenment the like of which many other races were not blessed to possess. The lady carried the heavy burden of Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, so that healing and intellectual advancement were birthrights among elves, not something sought by a few persistent individuals.

And yet 3 months ago both his city and his brethren had first been touched by a blot of unspeakable evil. Although the hobbit Frodo was endearing and appeared entirely childlike, the One Ring he carried emanated evil, calling to its minions as a carcass emits stench, attracting insects.

Unrest stirred in the city. Caras Galadhon could not harbor the One Ring, nor its keeper, but the Fellowship could be assisted on their mission with such gifts as would prove useful. Shortly after their arrival Haldir as well as several of the other March Wardens had received an urgent summons directly from Lady Galadriel calling them back to the city for a war council.

Lady Galadriel foresaw a great war of Men and the forces of Isengard at the Rhohirrim fortress of Helm's Deep. After much discussion, it was agreed that the old alliance of elves and men must be revived lest the race of Men be eradicated by the Darkness entirely. All were saddened by the prospect of much loss of life, both elves and men.

The elves were slightly mistrustful of the man Boromir, but Haldir had said heartfelt goodbyes to Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and the hobbits. Somehow intuitively he knew that the web of fate would draw him along part of the same path as the Elessar, and that they had not spoken for the last time.

Upon the leaving of the Fellowship, the mustering of the Galadhrim archers and swordsmen had begun. Haldir had been chosen to organize and head the army. He knew the individual warriors and their skills best having served with them, and also understood the overwhelming logistics of organizing a marching army.

Yet while he was honored, he wondered to what purpose this would lead him. His people were leaving these shores for Valinor. Would he ever arrive there, or would this war be his undoing? In an attempt to quiet his mind he had made one last trip to his favorite talan on the Northern side of the forest where he had first greeted the Fellowship. For a few brief hours he contemplated the sunshine spilled in dappled pools over the patches of elanor and niphredil flowers for what he hoped was not the last time. Reluctantly he left to complete his duties. To whatever end….

As he arrived back in the city, the unthinkable, Lady Galadriel had requested his presence that night at The Mirror! This was not a thing normally done. An uncharacteristic nervousness had plagued him for the rest of the day.

Now Haldir perceived on the edge of his hearing the footfalls of Lady Galadriel crossing the open grass in the space above. Clothed in white, she glided down the stairs with the ease of a sylph playing amongst the stars. Stopping, she stood next to the running silver stream, girded in moonlight like a phantom. Surely if any being had a portent of his future, it was she.

Haldir knelt on one knee, still slightly in awe of his gracious queen. "Arwen en amin? (_My Lady?)_" he questioned. Picking up the great pewter vessel to catch the stream of water, Lady Galadriel curved her neck gracefully to regard him. Silently she continued to fill the vessel, all the while watching him out of the corner of her eye….


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – I acknowledge that the phrase "Seeing is both good and perilous" is a direct rip-off from Tolkien. As my addled brain couldn't formulate a better way of saying it, I admit to "borrowing" it.

I am also writing under the assumption that the elves used pauldrons as part of their plate armor. I don't know this detail to be true, but it's a convenient assumption as I need Haldir's character to live through the Urukai attack in the movie.

Next chapter will be post Helm's Deep with some variations on canon characters and some OC/mine own.

All constructive criticism or inside information is greatly appreciated (and usually heeded) but please don't flame me!

**Chapter 2**

The stream sparkled softly into the bottom of the ewer, its voice bearing the stories of a thousand lives past as well as the tales of thousands more yet to come, if only one was wise enough to interpret them.

The keeping of Nenya, while being a great burden, had also gifted The Lady of the Wood with abounding secrets of Nature. Through the study of ages beyond human reckoning the earth, water, fire and air had become almost as familiar to her as her own flesh and bone. And like the sudden slice of a knife through flesh, or the unforgiving creak of old age on mortal bones, the elements had whispered to her that changes were coming, both sudden and slow.

The water lost its voice, filling the ewer and sliding silently over the sides into the dark pool below. Turning to face Haldir, the Lady Galadriel gracefully lifted the vessel from the pool and glided over to the carven table, emptying it gently into the center of the mirror and then replacing it next to the stream reverently. It was time.

Facing Haldir across the table she gestured with a pale hand, beckoning him to stand, and then move closer to the mirror. Her golden hair tousled slightly in the night wind, Galadriel inclined her head in a brief nod and then spoke without speaking, her greeting sounding as a thought in his mind.

"Creoso _(Welcome)_, Haldir." Haldir gave a slight bow in acknowledgement. She continued slowly, her words carefully chosen. "My Lord Celeborn and I have entrusted you with a great undertaking. Yet despite your willingness to perform this task, I sense within you a great unrest."

Two sets of eyes locked across the table in understanding. Galadriel's eyes flashed at Haldir, blue like sunlight refracting off a piece of cobalt glass. Hesitating for a moment, she directed her gaze back to the mirror.

Haldir looked down at the surface, first seeing nothing but water as clear as liquid crystal and the polished metal beyond. Slowly the surface of the water began to ripple as a long silent pond ripples from a stone cast by some lonely traveler. Then the surface seemed to gradually blossom a deep black color, infinite like the sky on a starless night.

Haldir saw himself as he was a short time ago. He stood in one of the ancient trees on Lorien's borders, hands grasping a rail at the edge of a flet. Grey cloak and silvery hair blowing carelessly, bow and quiver slung over one shoulder, his eyes sightlessly scanning a distant horizon. His face wore an expression of pensiveness, a most unusual demeanor for the Marchwarden. He remembered the exact moment. He had been considering what this war would mean - to his race, to his city, to his own brothers. Was there a purpose for him in Valinor, should he live to journey there?

Haldir raised his eyes to the Lady questioningly.

"I offer you no counsel, except what windows into History the mirror may reveal. The Past has buried its own demons, the Future is ever changing, and only you may decide how best to spend the Present. Seeing is both good and perilous."

Haldir inhaled deeply, feeling the breath expand through his chest. "I will see," he said quietly, looking Galadriel directly in the eyes before returning his gaze to the mirror.

The unrelieved black of the abyss returned, rippling quietly. Out of this came an image awash in blue moonlight. He stood on the edge of a battlement, a burgundy cloak covering his heavy armor. The deafening roar, the sharp din of swords and armor clashing surrounded him. Urukai of Isengard were everywhere.

Far away he could hear Aragorn's voice straining to shout over the clash in the elven language "Pull back to the Keep!" Swinging his blade wide he disemboweled the Uruk standing in front of him, black blood splattering the edge of his sword.

Again Aragorn's voice could be heard off to the right down a stairwell half cluttered with the corpses of Uruks and elves. "Haldir, Pull back to the Keep!" Sparing the split second it took to find Aragorn's face in the writhing black sea of Urukai armor, Haldir nodded his head curtly to convey his understanding and waved his arm in direction for the surrounding elves to follow him.

His mind enthralled by the mirror, Haldir leaned forward intently, hands grasping the edge of the table with a force that made the bones of his fingers ache. Instinctively he could sense the event that would lead to the most profound change of his life was unfolding before him in the glass.

A tall Uruk towered menacingly in front of him, roaring a challenge and wildly swinging a heavy iron weapon. Throwing all the leverage he could behind his blade Haldir spun, slicing his opponent's abdomen open, determined to grant safe passage back to the Keep for as many of his archers as he could.

That reflected Haldir, the one warring so valiantly towards his destiny, had made a grievous error. In turning aside for that tiny instant he had unwittingly created an opening for the enemy.

A squat Uruk stood behind him, black and stunted yet broad and enduring as the burnt stump of a hewn oak. This foe possessed the most dangerous kind of intelligence – cunning. Schooled in the ruthless art of warfare, the Uruk sensed the opportunity for a kill.

Heaving its great iron bar to the side, the Uruk smashed Haldir in the back, the barb on the end shattering through the layers of the elf's pauldron, chain mail and tunic. As the Uruk tore his weapon loose Haldir used the force to wheel about, burying the end of his sword in his opponent's ribcage.

As the Uruk collapsed in a heap at his feet, Haldir hunched forward stunned, clutching his right arm tucked close to his body with the palm clenched, fingers curling upwards in agony and shock. Raising his eyes he could see the dim reflections of the moonlight glinting off the armor of his remaining brethren, retreating towards the Keep.

The lesson was as yet unlearned, for behind him was a third Uruk determined to finish him. Bellowing with rage the Uruk brought its weapon overhead, crashing down on Haldir's back, the corner smashing through armor and chain with enough force to shatter ribs from the spine.

Falling forward onto his knees, Haldir could hear Aragorn screaming his name from the stairs nearby. The spirit in his eyes appearing to grow dim, with great effort he raised his head to look at the pale, lifeless faces of his comrades. Seeing the wreckage of their bodies crushed and strewn carelessly on the edge of the stairway he wondered if this allegiance, this great battle, had all been for naught.

Aragorn rushed to him, propping him from falling backwards by bracing his forearm under Haldir's back. As the reflected Haldir's eyes slid closed, the mirror faded to black in shades like ink droplets staining the clear water.

Releasing his hands from their tense grip on the edge of the table, Haldir straightened and took a step back from the mirror. Eyes empty he stared blindly at the grass at his feet. He kept watching the last scene replaying in his mind. If this was the entirety of what the mirror had to show then there was little point in lingering. His future set, his purpose remained unwavering. Lifting a booted foot, he turned to leave.

Galadriel held up a hand, staying him. Her voice in his mind washed over him with gentle waves of calmness and reassurance. "Do not be troubled, this is not an ending but a beginning. The glass holds more than one future."

The depth of Galadriel's eye seemed to hold a spark and for a fleeting second Haldir imagined that an enigmatic smile curled the corners of the Lady's mouth. Mercurial, it had passed almost before Haldir perceived it. Turning back, one eyebrow held arched, he followed her eyes back to the mirror.

The sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky, causing sharp flashes of light to bounce off the waves in the surrounding sea. Haldir stood at the bow of a wooden ship, the weaving of the bowsprit and forestays extending in front of him attached to a mast high above.

In his usual garb of grey tunic and cloak, bow slung casually over one shoulder, he was staring ahead intently at a distant shoreline blazing in green forest. A beach of rocks and sand could be seen at the shore's edge, the land further up the hill of the shoreline dotted with the pearly white spikes of birch trees swaying in the breeze.

Eyes alight, mouth curving into a radiant smile, he whispered slightly under his own breath "Valinor!"

While that image faded, the surface of the water began to stir slightly again, metamorphosing from the image of a ship to the more familiar sight of the silvery bark of the mallorn tree and its wide girth with stout branches.

Daylight was spent, the light fading quickly to burnished sunset turning the bark of the mallorn a coppery red hue. Haldir stood in a light green velvet tunic and cloak heavily embroidered in knot work, one hand leaning on the railing at the edge of a talan, the other hand pointing to some far off view in the distance while looking down at a person next to him.

At his knee lightly grasping the edge of his cloak stood a child of 3 or 4 moons dressed in a beige colored tunic, leggings, and tiny boots. Fawn brown eyes gazed up at him in rapt attention, mussed waving light brown hair falling to the shoulders of his tunic.

While the child's frame was minutely heavier in comparison with that of an elfling, his stance still conveyed a certain willowy grace only attributed to elven kind. His face contained features familiar as Haldir's own, and yet others were different. The nose more snubbed, the eyes a shade of Men.

Eyes sparkling with intelligence and mischief, the child's rosebud mouth smiled slightly with innocence. Giving the cloak an insistent tug, he turned his face upwards questioning insistently. "Ada? _(Father?)_"

This time the water in the basin faded to a dull dead slate black the shade of coal, afterwards slowly clearing to its normal clarity with wisps of steam rising from the surface.

Haldir slowly raised his eyes to Galadriel's face, wearing a startled expression. He took another step back distancing himself from the mirror, waiting for his mind to quiet. Watchful, he looked to the Lady for whatever guidance she might offer.

She was ageless and radiant in her white gown, and yet Nenya's wisdom had stamped her with a certain melancholy of vast experience. "I can offer you only what sight Nenya permits as its Keeper, and what histories the water channels. These events are not settled, only possibilities."

Inclining her head slightly in dismissal she paused, speaking softly in parting. "Tenna' ento lye omenta _(Until next we meet)_, Haldir of Lorien."

Feeling oddly both apprehensive and reassured, Haldir collected his thoughts and bowed in return. "Tenna' san', Arwen en amin _(Until then, My Lady)._" Treading lightly around the edge of the stand past Galadriel he slowly mounted the stone steps. He could only offer a prayer to the Valar that what should be would become. In the morning he would lead the army out of the city to the fate that awaited them at Helm's Deep.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I apologize for the delay updating. Central NY waylaid my posting plans with a storm, complete with gale force winds, snow, and the accompanying power outages. Then finding the heroine's name was a bit challenging._

_I spent the 1st hour scouring websites full of Norse names. By the time I had gotten to the 5th name beginning with "A" they were all beginning to turn into a hurricane of Alphabits cereal whirling madly to the tune of "Dance Macabre". I began to yearn for a bottle of gently aged Glen Livet scotch._

_I spent the 2nd hour reviewing websites full of Anglo-Saxon names. I found a name I really liked – Esme (or Esma), meaning kind defender. Unfortunately it didn't conform to the standard of "- a" suffixes being male. BLAST! The dull paring knife in the kitchen was beginning to have its own secret appeal. (If you can stand watching a chick-flick check out Orlando Bloom/Kirsten Dunst in "Elizabethtown". The scene with the exercise bike & the Ginsu chef's knife - that's me after attempting research)_

_Eventually in the 3rd hour my perseverance paid off. On a website of Celtic names I found one that was consistent with "the rules" and that I actually like. The name I've chosen for my heroine is Cierdwyn (pronounced ker-ID-wen), which means beloved + shining/holy. If this is wrong, please be merciful and just don't tell me._

**Blessings of Valar – Chapter 3**

Feeling out of place, Cierdwyn climbed the steps that led to the top of the Deeping Wall. A young woman of diminutive stature, she wore a coarse green calf length tunic covered by a long dark blue homespun dress. Jumper style with straps over each shoulder the dress laced up the sides from waist to armpit with a length of leather thong. The long sleeves of her tunic were rolled up to the elbow. Her wavy chestnut brown hair had been hurriedly plaited into a loose braid. Thong tied carelessly, wisps were escaping to blow lightly across her pale face.

Blood, both black and red, stained darkly under her torn fingernails. Smeared heavily up her forearms it was a mute testament to her mission. Along with some of the other women she had spent the better part of the morning picking her way carefully amongst the heaps of shattered bodies, hoping against all odds she might find some remaining life to nurture.

The hours after dawn had dragged on endlessly. She had pushed herself to the edge of exhaustion. The muscles of her arms ached from the strain of pulling on armor-clad bodies. Thus far the effort was ill rewarded. After straining and struggling in the mud they had found very few survivors. Mostly the effort ended only to stare into lifeless eyes, the soul having fled leaving an empty husk.

If possible sometimes it was worse – the person found was a husband, a brother, a neighbor, or a friend. Although the battle was already over Cierdwyn felt that the women had just embarked on their own war. One by one she watched her closest companions being lost, ending in hysterical sobbing after recognizing a fallen loved one. Which was the greater evil, the weeping or the dull look of numbness that settled afterwards? Sometimes she wondered - was it harder to war or to wait? Silently she thanked the Valar that thus far she'd been spared the pain of finding her brother Dunhere among the dead.

Not surprisingly seeing the elves amongst the fallen had been one of the most heartbreaking things. It represented the death of one of her fondest dreams. Ever since she was a child Cierdwyn had wished to be a great healer. The knowledge and the healing powers of the elves were legendary. She had always wished to see the great cities of Rivendell or Caras Galadhon with her own eyes.

Her Uncle had always warned her against this hope being foolish. The elves were mysterious and enigmatic, like trying to clutch a wisp of smoke in your hand he'd said. Until now they'd taken little interest in the world of Men. The dream was probably even more far fetched now. Their interest in Men, expressed through this alliance, had ended in the sacrifice of their army. Besides, rumor held that the elves were passing out of Middle Earth entirely, journeying to a distant land.

The hours of discouragement were beginning to take their toll. As she climbed another stair her legs began to feel shaky and threatened to buckle. She lowered herself gracelessly to the sharp edge of a step. Lifting a grimy hand to shade her tawny brown eyes from the glare of the mid-morning sun, Cierdwyn gazed out at the carnage. Corpses everywhere. Men, elves and Urukai. They were scattered haphazardly where they fell like so much chaff being separated from wheat by a swift breeze.

In the distance she could see Erkenbrand, her beloved Uncle. The embossed leather of his ornate armor splashed with gore he stood with the Lord Aragorn and some of his soldiers in front of a cowering group of men from Dunland. He was an imposing warrior. Tall, barrel-chested and resolute as a mountain. Long reddish blonde hair hanging down his back, his helm tucked under one arm he looked like the granite statue of the ancient king Helm Hammerhand come to life.

Poor hillmen, she mused. Ragged and defeated several had prostrated themselves and looked to be begging for mercy. She knew a secret they didn't. Despite being fierce and a shrewd strategist her uncle was also fair. And he hated this waste of life. Although she was too far away to hear his voice she knew if they swore an oath never to invade or raise arms against Rohan again he would let the wild men go free. Back to their land, their women, their families. Their crimes in this war were more of ignorance than true malice.

Whatever judgement he and Lord Aragorn passed had been decreed. The prisoners looked stunned, mouths agape and staring at eachother. Shaking his head Erkenbrand began to split their group into halves. He would probably have them help bury the dead, and gather the carcasses of the fallen Urukai to burn. Ever practical, thought Cierdwyn. Soon the crows would begin to arrive, the vultures not long after.

Bracing her hands firmly against her knees she forced herself to stand, muscles and joints protesting at the overuse. She started up the stairs again with forced purpose. She would not give up now. This could not be for nothing. She would help someone, even if it was only to ease the passing of their last breath or console them in their time of grief. She would make sure none were buried alive, even if it meant checking every person remaining on the field.

Coming to the top of the stairs, she stepped carefully between the dark forms of fallen Uruks. As many as she'd seen today she'd never grow accustomed to how savage they looked. Even dead they were terrifying. Preoccupied by their ferocious faces, she was less than careful with the placement of her feet. Through the leather bottom of her moccasin she felt that she had trod on something soft.

Turning her gaze Cierdwyn realized she was standing on the outflung edge of a luxurious elven cloak. Dark red, the shade of vintage claret, the cloak was unlike any she'd seen on the other elves. For that matter the air of the individual lying before her was somehow different. She stopped, puzzled.

This elf had fallen on his back, one arm landing slightly away from his side, the other tucked in closer to his waist as though he'd been trying to protect it. The killing blows must have fallen on his back as there were no visible disturbances to the front of his armor.

In repose the silvery white hair, the pale glowing skin and the noble mien were similar. His eyes were closed, but she supposed they had been the same clear strident blue. If what she'd seen was any indication, handsomeness and beauty seemed almost a genetic right among the elves. Yet the cloak and armor whispered of something more.

The armor shape was familiar. Unlike the armor of Men, elven armor was both beautiful and protective. Cierdwyn had observed that the pieces fit together in graceful rounded sections almost like the segments of a butterfly wing. But here the coloring seemed different. The armor she'd seen on the other elves tended to be more bronze in hue with a green patina. Rather like a leaf shedding the last of its summer green for a golden yellow in autumn. This armor was more silvery in color.

The chain mail tunic that showed at the neck underneath the armor was different as well. It was certainly far superior to anything Rohan produced. Rohirrim chain mail was bulky, heavy, and a dull grey color. This mail seemed to be light in appearance, rather like the famed mithril. It appeared to be woven gracefully together, falling flat and flush, shining like the scales on the side of a fish. She hadn't seen this on the other elves either.

It would seem to be a marking of rank. Perhaps she'd stumbled upon their leader? Taking in a deep breath Cierdwyn released it in a long sigh. She'd experienced many things today, most tragic. And yet for some reason this seemed one of the saddest.

She stepped off the edge of the cloak, and bending down she gathered it closer to his side. Careless of her knees through her thin dress, she knelt down and was about to grasp the cloak on each side and cover him with it when something caught her eye. A tiny glint of sunlight reflected off the chain mail around his throat.

Sighing again Cierdwyn rubbed her eyes and the bridge of her nose hard with the fingers of one grubby hand. This could not be. Wishing would not make it so. Opening her eyes and squinting in concentration she saw it again. A tiny spark of light from movement underneath the chain mail.

Reaching over she laid her hand on the chest plate of his armor, waiting to feel some slight movement. A few seconds ticked by and still she was unsure. Throwing her braid over her shoulder she knelt down next to his face and put her ear directly over his nose and mouth. She felt the loose tendrils of hair around her ear move with the slightest exhaled breath.

Scrambling to her feet she skittered over the tangled mass of bodies and weaponry almost falling several times on her way to the edge of the wall. Shielding her eyes with her hand she searched the field for her uncle, Lord Aragorn, Theoden King, one of the other women. Anyone. Finally she spotted her uncle and Lord Aragorn a few yards out on the field standing next to one of the women and her fallen husband.

Taking a massive breath she cupped her hands around her mouth shouting "Uncle!" at the top of her voice. Erkenbrand seemed not to hear, but Lord Aragorn and the woman turned in her direction. Undignified and uncaring she began jumping wildly and waving her arms. Lord Aragorn, seeing something wrong, had begun picking his way across the field in her direction. Cupping her hands to her mouth she shouted again. "He's alive!"


	4. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

_I just graduated from massage therapy school back in December. I took my licensure exam at the end of January. It takes 6 to 8 weeks to get the results back. - I've still got about 2 more weeks 'til I find out. Boo, hiss.  
_

_Due to the more mundane aspects of life (you know, eating, paying bills, that kind of drivel…) I've been forced to take on a full-time job until I get my test score and decide what to do. That means less time off, less frequent fanfic updates. I hate it, but barring Peter Jackson calling for input on a storyline I guess it's back to the real world. (And we've all read my writing so we know that isn't going to happen!)_

_Thanks for all of the people who've taken the time to read and review. You've been wonderful! I've got Chapter 4 about a third of the way done and will post as soon as I can. I'll post as often as I can to keep the plot bunnies from gnawing a hole in my cranium. In the meantime, thanks for your patience!_

_Pink Floyd said it best:_

"_Money, it's a hit.  
Don't give me that do goody good bullshit."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Blessings of Valar – Chapter 4**

_A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting. Hopefully the fact that this chapter is absurdly LONG will make up for it!_

_The knowledge in this chapter about the rotator cuff muscles of the arm and the brachial plexus (nerves) I took directly from my recent massage schooling._

_The wound care portions of this chapter I had to assemble as best I could through research on the www about herblore and wound care in the Middle Ages. I am not in any way a medical expert, so advice is greatly appreciated._

_The stitching needle I stole from "Troy" – if they can do it in 1194 BC I can do it in the 3rd Age._

_Some of the war council dialogue I "borrowed" from the book where I thought it fit. _

_If you're looking for a fast romp I will warn you that it won't be in this story. People need time to build relationships and fall in love. Even more so during the time period which Middle Earth was based upon._

_The Battle of Helm's Deep happened March 3-4, the Battle of Pelennor Fields on March 15, and the Battle of the Moranon (in front of Mordor's Black Gate) on March 25th. After all of which Aragorn's coronation still wasn't held until May 1. That gives me at least a 2 month + time frame. And I intend on using every second of it!_

_And if you're looking for Mary Sue be advised that she died a violent and exceedingly ghastly death at Helm's Deep. With a spear through her perfect face. I prefer chile peppers to melba toast, Habaneras to be exact._

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Waiting on the battlement Cierdwyn suddenly comprehended Aragorn's nickname of Strider. Despite hours spent in heated battle then dealing with the fallen on the field he seemed tireless as he quickly picked his way through the muddle and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Two or three soldiers followed behind, unsure what the fuss was about and what help would be required.

Reaching the top of the stairs Aragorn quickly knelt down next to the fallen elf. His expression one of rejoicing - it was clear that the two had known each other personally. He seemed about to embrace his fallen comrade. Ripped away by the battle only seconds after his falling Aragorn had thought that Haldir had passed beyond the veil. Instinct preventing his rash action and instead he looked up inquiringly at Cierdwyn.

Suddenly now that there was a patient to help all of her lost vigor had returned in a surge of adrenaline. As she stood with her hands braced on her hips and an unraveling braid cast over one shoulder she was the picture of an impatient healer. Her eyes flashing she mumbled something unintelligible under her breath that sounded vaguely like "No time for court etiquette…"

Still kneeling next to Haldir, Aragorn was taken aback when the tiny woman began issuing orders to the men that had followed him up the stairs. The tone carried authority, brooked no refusal, and promised to blister the paint off what remained of their armor if they didn't hurry. The men were dispatched at best speed to find something upon which to carry the elf into the makeshift treatment rooms in the keep.

The woman bobbed in what served as a tiny courtesy. Kneeling down again, she said "Forgive the brevity, my Lord Aragorn. Considering the plight of your friend now is perhaps not the best time for an introduction. My name is Cierdwyn. I am the niece of lord Erkenbrand. I was helping the women search the area for wounded when I found…." Glancing down at Haldir her voice trailed off into a question.

Aragorn noted and admired her no nonsense manner. "I understand my lady, and I thank you. In answer to your question he is Haldir of Lorien, March Warden for the city of Caras Galadhon. He was sent by Celeborn & Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood. It was under his leadership that the army came to re-forge their alliance with Men at Helm's Deep."

Before she could question further the men had returned with an improvised gurney made of a wide solid piece of wood, most probably from the broken door of the Hornburg. An older woman followed behind carrying two blankets, which she handed to Cierdwyn.

Showing the second side of her dual nature Cierdwyn fussed greatly over having Haldir lifted and put on his left side, and then gently placed the first blanket under his head as a pillow using the second as a covering. Finally ready to move, the extra soldier and the older woman were stationed on each side ensuring no rolling or falling could occur during transport. Cierdwyn purposely stationed herself close at the side where she could watch for any signs of pain or consciousness.

Feeling caught in a whirlwind, Aragorn trailed mutely behind. As he listened to Cierdwyn urging the men to be careful he thought how like Eowyn she was. The peaceful tenderness of moonlight guarded by a sharp sword and a broad shield.

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The trip to the keep was painstaking and seemed to take forever due to the slow pace. Once inside they were guided to a large room where women were busy tending a few other wounded souls. Most of them appeared to have suffered hideous amputations or stabbings from the beasts in Saruman's armies. Cierdwyn gestured that Haldir be placed off to one side on a wooden platform next to a rickety table holding supplies. It looked to serve as a rough triage area.

Aragorn was surprised to see the surface of the table littered with rough pottery jars, their openings stopped with corks and covered with pieces of thin leather hide lashed with a leather thong. Some dried herbs could be seen poking out of small linen bags. Bandages and clean padding had been ripped from extra cloth and stacked neatly. A delicate needle, C-shaped and shining, and a short dagger had been set aside on a scrap of cloth. A pot of fresh water sat nearby on the floor.

What lay next to the table was even more astonishing. A crude cage had been formed from sticks that had been tied together. Inside sat a fat orange tabby, gracing the future king with a malevolent glare as he paused from fastidiously washing his front paw.

His owner had been watching Aragorn survey her meager possessions. "Not all women are interested only in jewelry and finery," Cierdwyn murmured, sweeping her focus back to Haldir.

"Quickly, we must remove this armor and mail. Move him as little as possible." Aragorn and the other soldier set about the awkward task as they were most familiar with the straps and attachments. That accomplished Cierdwyn retrieved the dagger. Pulling the cloth out she made a clean slit up the back of Haldir's tunic allowing Aragorn to peel it away from the wounds on his back.

Motioning for him to come back around the platform she took a piece of the padding, wet it with the clean water and began bathing the wounds. The back wound next to the spine was a clean slice through the pale skin, still leaking small rivulets of blood. It was slightly sunken at the top of the slit as though the ribs underneath had been snapped from the spine.

Cierdwyn called quietly to the other woman. "Maeglyn, I need you." With no further instruction the older woman nodded, took a pad and began applying pressure to staunch the blood flow. A pinched looked passed between the two women. It was clear these two had worked together closely in the past.

Cierdwyn then proceeded to clean the arm wound, Aragorn coming around the side of the table to look. This was the uglier of the two, evidenced by Cierdwyn wrinkling her nose in distaste. Aragorn could see where the thin metal of the pauldron had been punctured, the edges pushed inward to the flesh and acting as a serrated blade to leave a deep cut with jagged edges.

After removing some of the blood that had caked and clotted on the top the muscle underneath could be seen. It was raw and angry. The body's natural healing momentarily disrupted a fresh flow of blood began to seep from the wound. Echoing Maeglyn's actions Aragorn took another pad and tried to quell the bleeding.

Cierdwyn stood for a moment, straightening her tired back, unconsciously placing the back of her arm against her forehead. As bloody water seeped down her arm from the rag in her hand she sighed. She was unsure which of the wounds was more worrisome. Long ago Maeglyn had taught her that there was a ring of muscles that attached the arm to the shoulder, a cuff of sorts. It also served to coordinate finer movements of the arm. If the disruption was bad enough it could hinder movements – especially those of the swift nature needed to bear arms.

Yet the wound to the spine was no less serious. Through much observation of battle injuries Maeglyn had trained her that wounds to or near the spine could be crippling. Barring that horror they could still leave parts of the body with odd prickling sensations or numbness altogether.

As a drop of cool water hit her cheek she realized the harshness that Maeglyn said would sometimes face even the best of healers. How do you tell a person that you have just met, someone to whom you already owe so much, that their life may never be the same?

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Once the bleeding had been stopped the process of stitching the wounds closed was no less involved. With dogged determination Cierdwyn took longer than usual, lining the edges up perfectly and basting them together with the tiniest of stitches. Haldir had moaned once during the process and made a small movement with his arm. Both Aragorn and Cierdwyn had placed a hand on his arm to stop him. The skin felt cold to the touch like alabaster.

When the last stitch was firmly knotted and cut Cierdwyn stood again. After Aragorn removed the tunic fully and Cierdwyn tucked the blanket around Haldir closely she moved to clean her equipment. Taking care of the needle last she paused for a moment to stretch her sore arms above her head with a large yawn.

"What are these?" Aragorn questioned, standing next to the table.

Picking up various jars and bags of dried herbs she noted comfrey for knitting broken bones, golden seal for preventing infection, even horsetail gathered from the pasture to help thicken and clot the blood. "Though I have no Athelas here, my lord" Cierdwyn noted slyly, Aragorn's reputation having preceded him through her Uncle.

Haldir chose that moment to shift slightly. Despite appearing tired a moment before she was around the table in an instant. Pulling up a nearby chair she lowered herself into it and began bathing his forehead with a damp cloth.

Aragorn had seen all that he needed to see. Short only of elven magic and immortality, these healers were both knowledgeable and gentle. Their friend would be well cared for.

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Knowing that Aragorn would be occupied the others slowly assembled an informal war council. Theoden, Eomer, Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Erkenbrand, and Gamling composed the main body, others trickling in from the field as they could be spared. They gathered together some rough chairs seating themselves around a long trestle table. Tomorrow could not be postponed and the next course of action must be decided.

At length a couple of the women were borrowed from their duties of tending the wounded to bring coarse fare for the somnolent group. Some stale bread, cheese, apples, and a little ale were the only things to hand. An awkward silence reigned as the warriors picked carelessly at the food, not tasting what little they did eat. The weight of their decisions looming on the morrow the ale was the portion consumed most heavily.

The King sat slightly elevated from the others, his chair on a square stone dais. His golden hair shining, Theoden wore the regal manner of kingship like the mane of an aging lion. Taking as little pleasure in the meal before him as the rest, Theoden turned to look at Gandalf.

His hair and raiment had changed slightly after assuming the role of the White Wizard. Yet underneath he was still the same Gandalf Stormcrow. Outwardly he looked as wizened and worn as any mortal man coming upon the middle of his years. But long ago Theoden had learned that only by looking through the window of his eyes could you gauge the soul of any man. In Gandalf's eyes his true powers were revealed – a vast repository of knowledge collected over many lifetimes.

He had mistrusted Gandalf when he had advised against coming to Helm's Deep and then rode off with Shadowfax to collect Eomer and the riders of the Mark. It had been a suspicion born of Saruman's long occupation of his mind. But, in typical fashion, the wizard's keen perception had taken the long view and anticipated the outcome. Perhaps he would call upon that wisdom again.

Clearing his throat, Theoden began. "You have been a trusted advisor and ally these long years, Gandalf. As well as being a friend. What tactic would your counsel next advise?"

Gandalf pushed back his chair and stood, retrieving his white staff from where it stood propped against the wall. Collecting his robes about him he paced in front of the gathering. The whole room seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was his staff making a dull thud off the floor as he passed. He seemed to be considering. After his third circuit he stopped in front of Theoden. "I shall return to Isengard, and those who will may come with me," he stated quietly.

"To Isengard?" was the murmur throughout the room. Eomer's dark brows knitted together rebelliously, the young warlord almost coming out of his chair but for Theoden's staying hand on his shoulder.

Only Legolas and Gimli remained silent. The two friends painted an odd portrait as a look passed between them. Legolas glance slanted sideways at Gimli as he tilted his chair precariously on the back legs leaning against the wall. The embodiment of elven nonchalance to any that did not know him better. Gimli winked back at the elf conspiringly as he burped inelegantly into his beard after finishing a gulp of ale. A tiny smile hovered momentarily on the face of both elf and dwarf. The trials of their long journey had taught them an implicit trust in the wizard. A lesson experience would teach these men to share.

Theoden's brows rose in astonishment. "But there are not men enough in the Mark, not if they were all gathered together and healed of wounds and weariness, to assault the stronghold of Saruman."

"We go for a parley, not to a fight. It is information I seek. I wish to speak to Saruman as soon as may be."

Hearing his men murmuring around him, Theoden looked askance. "A parley? But surely there are both orcs and Urukai enough remaining in Isengard to protect Saruman? He cannot have been so foolish as to leave his stronghold vulnerable to attack?"

Bracing his hands against the edge of the table, Gandalf's eyes locked with the king's. "Will you trust to what I have seen?" Turning to face the rest of the men, he met each one of their gazes squarely. "I speak the truth when I say that whatever remained of his army is spent."

Theoden's men were grizzled soldiers, bodies scarred and hardened by the physicality of a life spent in herding horses and waging war. Their heroism lay in the realms of horsemanship and battle, not magic or strategy. A look of bewilderment passed between Erkenbrand and Gamling.

"How?" The more sociable of the two Gamling uttered the single word, his voice fading at the end of the question.

"Not by wizardry, but a power far older. A power that walked the earth ere elf sang or hammer rang. The same power that gathered the Entwood in the Deeping-coomb sealing the doom of the fleeing Uruks. An old riddle says it best:"

"_Ere iron was found or tree was hewn,_

_When young was mountain under moon,_

_Ere ring was made, or wrought was woe,_

_It walked the forests long ago."_

"The Ents?" Theoden questioned. "If I had not seen the Uruks disappear into the closeness of the forest before my own eyes I would scarcely have believed it!"

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed, "The Ents and the Huorns. Treebeard, the most ancient, has led a battle against the forces at Isengard. The dam has been ruptured, flooding the great mines and ironworks of Saruman. I believe he may yet have some answers as to what Sauron is plotting from Mordor."

Making another circuit before the table Gandalf returned to his seat, leaning his staff once more against the stone wall. "I can only advise. The final decision must be made by this council."

The company turned as one in surprise when the massive wooden doors to the King's chamber in the Hornburg swung open. Drawn and weary Aragorn marched through the doorway, still dressed in his spattered black leather jerkin and heavy mail. To Theoden it was like déjà vu, the moment of Aragorn's unexpected return following the battle with the Wargs recurring.

Aragorn stopped in front of the king. Sketching a brief bow to Theoden he turned and settled himself in one of the chairs left vacant between Legolas and Gimli. Loath to interrupt the proceedings Legolas cocked a sleek brow quizzically at Aragorn, indicating his concern for Haldir's welfare. Aragorn gave a brief nod, confirming that all was as well as could be expected with the promise of a full disclosure after the meeting.

Theoden watched this short exchange and then resumed stating to Aragorn "According to Gandalf the power of the Ents has crushed any Urukai and orcs remaining in Isengard. A plan has been put forth to travel to Isengard and speak with Saruman. Perhaps further information can be gleaned about Sauron's battle plans now that his minions have been cast out of Helm's Deep. The council is deciding."

Predictably the men started buzzing amongst themselves, all eager to ascertain that their neighbors' opinion was in accordance with their own. When the whispering quieted Theoden began by regarding each individual, who in turn gave his brief nod of assent for the plan.

Finally he came to his nephew. Looking to Eomer he saw a grimacing face set as solemnly as a tombstone. The young Marshall sat considering, his fingertips curved together in a tense steeple. Finally he looked up into Theoden's eyes, giving a curt nod of approval.

Having made his own decision, Theoden stood to issue a final statement. "It will be as you say. Tomorrow we will begin the journey to Isengard. Arrangements will be made for such men as can be spared to accompany the wounded, the women and the children back to Meduseld. Now go and rest. All the strength we can muster and more will be needed ere this trial ends."

The men slowly stood, paid regards to their liege and filed out of the king's chamber. Only the members of the Fellowship, the King, Eomer, Gamling and Erkenbrand remained.

Looking exhausted Theoden sank back into his chair, running a shaking hand over his eyes and beard. Seeming to recover himself, he turned to face Aragorn. "How does the Lord Haldir fare? My people will never forget the sacrifice the elves made for Rohan. We stand greatly in their debt, and he will have the best care we can offer."

"He has taken a serious wound to his back as well as his arm. Fortunately he is already in possession of an excellent healer. Lady Cierdwyn, the niece of Lord Erkenbrand, seems to have things well in hand." Aragorn turned to Erkenbrand a warm smile reflected in his eyes. "Your niece is a promising healer, my friend. As well as being a spirited Shieldmaiden."

Uncharacteristic in a fierce warrior, a smile softly split Erkenbrand's craggy face and he nodded proudly in agreement. "Aye, my Lord. That she is." Gamling made a faint snorting noise while biting into an apple.

The mood became more somber as Aragorn continued. "We managed to stop the wounds from bleeding and Lady Cierdwyn stitched them shut. There is the usual danger of fever or infection as well as another." Aragorn hesitated awkwardly, unclear how to proceed.

"It is certain that Haldir has lost some function in that arm, but she is unsure of the extent. Her greatest concern is that the strength and feeling will not return, and that he may never be able to draw a bow or wield a sword again."

Despite remaining static during the excitement of the council Legolas' chair now tilted forward, the front legs making a loud thud as they hit the floor. He blinked at Aragorn, seemingly stunned by this news. While the men still gathered around the table might imagine the blow this would be, as true kindred only he could fully comprehend.

The Valar blessed individuals with talents in certain areas. After many rituals and much consideration elves chose their life's work based upon their strengths and passions. Many lifetimes of Men would be spent honing the appropriate skills to an art form. Haldir had perfected his skills with weaponry to a degree that allowed him to be a respected guardian of his people and their borders. It was a mastery that also granted him the privilege of teaching up and coming young warriors.

To be denied that calling was to be ripped from a task one viewed almost as a one's life companion. To be abandoned, bereft and in foreign territory. It was like asking a bird to fly through water or a fish to swim in the air.

Aragorn placed a reassuring hand on his friend's back, returning him to the present. "The Lady Cierdwyn is a gifted healer. Not perhaps one of the eldest in her village, but certainly one of the most talented by her neighbor's reports. If anyone can set Haldir to rights 'twill be she."

Theoden added his reassurances. "Lord Haldir shall be moved back to Meduseld and housed in the Golden Hall itself. He will be placed in Theodred's chamber." A dark look of grief passed quickly over the faces of Theoden and Eomer like ribbons of cloud briefly obscuring the face of a full moon. "Lady Cierdwyn will have chambers nearby, perhaps with Eowyn, so she can watch over the March Warden as well as the other wounded."

After an awkward pause spent staring intently at the ale in the bottom of his tankard Erkenbrand shrugged his shoulders tensely. With a temperament to match the reddish hue of his hair Erkenbrand raised his head and spoke in his forthright manner. "Although I think she'll fare more for the worse than the better by caring for our elven friend."

Proving the calm outward demeanor of elves to be a façade, Legolas' head snapped in Erkenbrand's direction. His blue eyes glinted dangerously as he demanded "How so?" the words hissing between his teeth. Each syllable prickled with affront like the stiff quills of a porcupine.


End file.
